Guardians (Caretaker Chronicles Book 2) (35 page)

Aria’s heart beat hard as she jingled Ethan on
the missive. When he answered, she saw that he had not gone home. He was in the
street near the hospital, unshaven, wrinkled.

“Is she still—with us?” his voice trembled with
the question. Aria couldn’t speak, just turned the missive towards their little
daughter and heard Ethan’s cry of surprise as he saw the child looking back at
him.

“Go home, Ethan, and bring all the Taim trays you
can find. They’re in the kitchen and the work room.” Aria balanced Rigel on her
hip as she slid a hand into the tent with Polara. The touch of her daughter’s
hand sent joy washing over her.

Daniel huddled in the back of the drift with
three women and seven men. He hoped that wherever Zella was, she was safe. They
switched off their headlights. The aliens that had been combing the city were
in the mines now, and their time to find their slaves was up today. In their
desperation, they had begun threatening the people in the mines, insisting that
their slaves were somewhere below the surface of Coriol and demanding that the
miners tell them where. But the Asgre had to leave soon. They were on their way
back to the surface now, he’d heard. If the miners could hold out, they might
be able to slip out of the mines or wait until the aliens left.

“Don’t make a sound,” Mullin commanded.

The voices of the Asgre echoed in the dark,
muffled by the masks they wore and unintelligible in their rough alien
language. They were growing closer on their way out of the mine.

Daniel heard his own breathing and tried to
exhale more quietly. He heard the click of a belt against the stone wall and
the shush of Illie’s uniform against the stone as she tried to ease into a
better position for a long-term wait. His own back and legs were burning, and
he knew that he’d have to shift soon, too.

He felt bad. Bad that he’d helped Theo and
Veronika steal gas samples from the mine. Bad that he’d sold the extra one to
Gaynes. His mother would have been ashamed, even if it did earn him almost a
thousand extra scrip.

And now Gaynes thought he had cheated him and was
threatening his little sisters. Who would be there to protect them from Gaynes
if Daniel was killed by aliens today in the mine?

He hadn’t cheated Gaynes, but he was far from
innocent. He had stolen the samples. He thought a repentant prayer and asked
his mother’s forgiveness for his foolishness.

Daniel wondered if he should whisper a reminder
to the others about the huge blast lights stored back here. They were known for
tipping over on their tripod bases even when they were just standing in the drift.

Daniel was amazed at the number of sounds that
humans could make when they were as silent as they could possibly be. Tarell’s
stomach growled loudly, sounding like a great groan in the depths of the mine.
Mary’s joints cracked as she shifted positions. Carter’s labored breathing
echoed off the stone around them, even though he held it for as long as he
could before inhaling forcefully.

The alien voices drew nearer. Light played on the
wall. They’d been lucky twice. If they could avoid this group, they could slip
out of the mine and head back to the safety of Coriol.

Daniel’s mind went to his sisters. With his
mother gone, they needed him more than ever. There was no one, no one on this
planet, to whom they could turn if their big brother didn’t come home.

Daniel felt, rather than saw, the lamp falling.
The rush of air that brushed his cheek preceded a great rattling crash.
Splinters of glass grazed his forearm, flying up from the rock floor of the drift.

The voices in front of them quieted and the
lights swung out of the main shaft and came towards them. Carter snapped,
shouting, “Run!” even though they all realized that there was nowhere to run.

Backed against the end of the drift, Carter ran
the only direction he could: toward the coming Asgre mercenary team. He
barreled into the first one, knocking them both over and grappling with the
alien for a moment, pulling off its mask. A sharp hiss filled the cavern and
the creature screeched, clawing at its throat before it grasped the mask and
pulled it back on. The light from the helmet had clattered down the drift,
where it spun and threw a beam of light up behind the approaching aliens,
backlighting them and casting their shadows onto the cowering group of humans at
the end of the tunnel.

Daniel saw Carter half-rise as the Asgre raised
its weapon and shot him. The older miner sunk to the floor and lay still. The
Asgre raised their lights in the direction he had come from.

The beams caught Daniel and the others frozen in
terror. The aliens shouted commands that they didn’t understand. Switching on a
translator, one of them said, “We are here for the Vala. You will lead us to
them.”

“We don’t know what you’re talking about!” Mary
pleaded. “What’s a Vala? We mine Yynium here!” The creature waited, listening
to the translation, and then barked, “Then you are not of any use to us.” He
raised his weapon.

Daniel closed his eyes, preparing for the shot.
Before he felt it, though, a gentle white light penetrated his eyelids. He
opened them to see, standing between the miners and the Asgre, a half-circle of
very different alien creatures.

They reminded him, somehow, of bipedal
caterpillars with wrinkly pearl skin. They turned enormous eyes toward the
miners, assessing, Daniel guessed, to see if they were all right. Their wide
eyes made it possible for them to see where others couldn’t and, he guessed, to
see what others couldn’t.

The Asgre were upon the new creatures in seconds,
clamping shackles around their waists and necks. They led them away, ignoring
the little group whose lives were changed forever by the first aliens they had
ever seen in person.

***

Reagan stood in front of the Cliprig, awaiting
the return of the Asgre search parties from the mines. This was day seven, and
he wanted these creatures out of his city. Ever since they’d come, he’d been
unusually afraid for the humans he was in charge of.

Saras’s words still jabbed at his thoughts.
Another
deal with the aliens, huh, Reagan?
It stung because it was true. He’d been part
of selling people into slavery. He didn’t think the pain and regret of that
would ever leave him.

Kaia jingled him on his missive, and her lined
face appeared on its screen.

“Time’s up,” she reminded him. The combination of
his melancholy thoughts and her words hit him in the chest. He tried to push
the thought of Kaia’s aging from his mind. She was strong, even before her
modifications, and after them he had started to think of her as indestructible.
Only, of course, she wasn’t. Her frail form on the screen was enough to tell
him that. Her voice now was sharp as she tried to get his attention.

“Did you hear? The Asgre are out of time?”

“Copy that,” he said.

He heard movement behind him. Whirling to peer
into the dark mouth of the mine, Reagan saw them returning to their transport.
They had, apparently, found what they were looking for.

The sharp-faced Asgre, with their skeletal
expressions and their razor-like bones sticking through the stretched tents of
their skin under their masks, moved toward him, weapons drawn. They were
herding pale beings out of the mine, some of them children. One tiny creature
was no larger than Polara. The helpless Vala blinked in the light as they were
led in chains to the transport.

Galo approached him. “These creatures are the
property I’ve been searching for.” Galo explained, almost ingratiatingly. “They
thought that hiding underground would fool me, but I have found them.” He
paused, then continued, and Reagan heard the frustration in his abrasive voice.
“Well, not all of them.” Galo motioned his soldiers to lead the creatures onto
the ship.

Reagan opened his mouth to speak, but Galo
continued. “I request more time to find the rest of my slaves.”

Reagan shook his head, “We’ve given you your
time. Your contract was that you would leave after seven days. Those days are
up.”

Galo spoke quickly. “Do you have anything you
need moved quickly across space, Mr. Regan?”

Reagan scoffed,
Yeah, about eighty
battleships,
he thought wryly.

Galo didn’t wait for an answer. “I can help you
with your shipping needs. We can move cargo very quickly. Is there something,
or
someone
that you’d like brought from your home planet? Perhaps in
exchange for a few more days?” His angular face, behind the mask, contorted
into what Reagan thought was supposed to be a smile.

Reagan thought about the battleships. He thought
about the YEN drives, piling up in warehouses back on Earth and too far away
from the Yynium supply to be of use for decades. Perhaps he’d been looking at
Galo all wrong. Being in an intergalactic society could have its advantages,
too.

The Admiral blinked, shaking the cobwebbed
thoughts in his head. “Could you—could you transport ships? What are your
limitations?”

Galo leaned forward eagerly. “Of course! I have
transported whole fleets. I could bring you anything you want.”

The fear Reagan had carried for the last few
weeks twisted in his chest. Maybe this was the way to keep the people on Minea
safe. Reagan began to nod, considering how many extra days he could give the
creature to search. The vast stretch of space between Minea and Earth could be
bridged by this one bargain. He could bring the fleet here, bring the drives
here. That big ship could carry a lot of YEN drives. As he glanced up at the
Cliprig behind Galo, Reagan saw the Vala being led onto the ship in chains. He
saw the mercenaries loading the smallest Vala child into the cage below the
great ship, saw it slump miserably onto the floor behind the bars.

Reagan turned his face away in disgust. Here he
was again, at the moment of decision. The freedom of the Vala hung on his
decision, and he wouldn’t make the same mistake he’d made before. This time, he
would stop it.

“Get off my planet, Galo, and don’t come back.”

Galo grunted, a confused sound. Reagan saw how
close he’d come to making a deal with the monster, and he stepped back a pace,
but Galo followed him.

“Oh, but I’m sure we can make an arrangement!
What can I bring you?”

“Anything you brought here would be stained with
the blood of those children.”

There was an exasperated edge in Galo’s voice. “What
do you want, Ray-gun? Anything!”

Squaring his shoulders, Reagan spoke slowly, with
force. “I want you gone.”

Galo’s eyes showed fury and defeat. He leaned in
close to Reagan. “I will retrieve my property.” Galo’s voice was hard.

A puff of the bitter gas that filled the Asgre
suits drifted into Reagan’s nose as Galo spoke. As the vapor entered his body,
Reagan felt a tremor shake him. He stepped back just as Galo bowed and strode
onto his ship.

The tremor remained, and Reagan clasped his hands
together behind his back to stop their shaking. What was this?

By the time the ship rose, Reagan had regained
control of his muscles, but a new fear had lodged itself in his chest. How far
were they willing to go to get the Vala?

When Reagan returned to his office, new defense
orders had arrived from the UEG headquarters on Earth. A death had been
reported in the mine. The Asgre were aggressive, and the UEG wanted them gone.
The Vala were to be returned to their masters, and he was to assist in
gathering them. The UEG would not be responsible for endangering any more human
lives.

But Reagan had made his choice. He would not be
responsible for making anyone else a slave.

Aria and Ethan had spent the last two days
filling Polara’s room with hastily-prepared Taim trays, and the bright colors
of Luis’s pottery shone around the room like pieces of a rainbow.

They held each other in the green-tinted light of
Polara’s room. Taim trays covered the windowsills and shelves, the cupboard on
the far wall, and the bed inside Polara’s tent. She had eaten well today, and
she was playing with her new doll from Hannah.

Rigel crawled happily on the floor. Aria had
stopped responding to his every whim, and wanting things that were out of his
reach had moved him to mobility. Each of the family wore a Taim patch, a little
wearable chip of pottery with a pin stuck on the back and Taim growing on its
front. The little plants waved cheerfully in spite of the bleak scenes in the
rest of the hospital.

Rigel clapped as Ethan scooped him up. “I’m
taking him for a little sunshine,” Ethan said, and Aria caught them both for a
kiss before letting them leave.

Moments later, a cleaning worker appeared at the
door, and Aria rushed to meet him before he entered the room.

She pointed to a sign she’d made that hung on the
door: “NO ZAM CLEANER ALLOWED IN THIS ROOM.”

The worker glanced around at the plants. “Lady, it
looks like you need it more than anybody.”

“Don’t come in.” Aria said, her voice sharp. “No
Zam is allowed in here.”

The cleaning worker shrugged. “Okay,” he said, “but
tell the floor supervisor that. She’s tough.”

“I’ll tell her.” Aria felt relief as the man
continued on to the next room. A new floor supervisor? That explained it. She’d
have to go talk to her immediately.

“Polara, Mama will be right back, okay?”

Polara looked up and smiled, and Aria’s heart
caught at the beauty of the simple movement. She gave a little wave and left to
find the new supervisor.

***

Marcos couldn’t taste the gar candy in his mouth,
but it kept the terrible dryness at bay. He wanted to lie down, to close his
eyes and give into the weakness, but as Veronika maneuvered his wheelchair down
the hospital hallway, he couldn’t help glancing in the rooms. Some patients lay
still in their beds, the clear bed covers tented over them, their struggle for
breath evident by the wheezing that filled the hospital. Marcos heard it in his
own breath.

If they were breathing, however laboriously, they
were the lucky ones. In many rooms Marcos saw that the struggle for life had
ended and the dejected family members of the dead gathered in the rooms and in
the halls, weeping.

So when they passed the room with open curtains
and a little girl playing happily with a doll under the cover over her bed, he
held up a hand. Veronika stopped immediately.

“Take me in there.” Saras said.

“Marcos, we’re not allowed—”

“I own this hospital. I’ll go where I want to go.”

Marcos dropped his slick hands to the wheels and
wrenched the chair away from her, rolling in next to the little girl’s raised
bed. She peered out at him, then waved. Marcos raised a hand slowly and waved
back.

There were plants everywhere. The room looked as
if no one had Zammed it in weeks, except that these plants were growing on bright
trays and strangely-shaped plates and they were placed deliberately throughout
the room.

Theo was gazing at the child, too. She waved at
him.

“I know her,” he said. “She’s the child of the Caretaker.”
His voice was a little sarcastic. “Ethan Bryant.”

Marcos gazed at her a moment more. How Theo knew
that was a mystery to him. She looked, to him, like the thousand other children
he saw around Coriol. But she had the fever. She should be laying still and
covered in the purple marks as he was. Her arms, neck, and cheeks showed the
evidence of the marks, but they had faded from deep purple to pale pink. They
gave her an almost delicate glow. From her smile it seemed she felt fine. She
was, judging by what he’d seen, the only person in this hospital recovering.

“Get me Ethan Bryant,” Marcos said softly, waving
a hand and laying his head back against the chair, his energy spent.

 “Within the hour.”

***

Bryant stood at the foot of Marcos’ bed. Marcos
knew the situation was different than the meeting they’d had weeks ago in his
office at Saras Company. He knew the difference between sitting in an
Earthleather chair and lying in a hospital bed. His tone revealed that knowledge.

“Mr. Bryant, I owe you an apology.”

“I suspect that’s not what you brought me here to
talk about, Mr. Saras.”

“Ethan, I’m prepared to make you a very
impressive offer.”

“Does it include stopping the blasting at the
edge of the Karst Mountains?”

Marcos closed his eyes. He despised letting other
people talk. They never saw what was really important. “Mr. Bryant, it’s a
monetary offer.” Before he was finished, Bryant was walking toward the door.
Marcos felt frantic, “and a stone and steel mansion. Don’t go!”

The caretaker turned around. “If you want me to
stay, you know my requirement.”

Marcos glanced at Veronika. For once, she looked
unsure. A coughing fit overtook him and Bryant stood halfway between the bed
and the door, unmoving and seemingly unmoved.

When Marcos’s breath came smoothly again, he
looked pleadingly at Bryant. “I will stop the blasting. But I need something
from you.”

Bryant took a step back towards him. “Prove it.
Make the call now to stop it.”

Marcos held, still and quiet. The land grant
flashed in his mind. They had extracted some already. It might be enough. And
it might not matter either way if he was dead. He held out his hand to Theo.
Theo pulled a missive from his inner jacket pocket and dialed, then handed it
to Marcos.

The crew leader at the karst tunnel answered. “Hey
boss.”

“Stop blasting,” Marcos said, his breath catching
in another cough as he spoke.

“What’s that?”

“Stop blasting.” Marcos caught Bryant’s eye and
held it. “Send your crew home.”

The man sounded flustered. “We’re—we’re coming
along fine, boss, we—”

Marcos’s temper flared. “Send them home now or
you’ll be back on the refinery line tomorrow.”

There was silence, then a subdued, “Yes, Mr.
Saras.”

Marcos held the missive impatiently out to Theo,
who took it and talked quietly, moving around the bed and out into the hall as
he spoke.

“Now can we talk, Mr. Bryant?”

The caretaker nodded.

“I saw your daughter today, down the hall,”
Marcos said, unable to keep the wistfulness out of his voice. Something about
that happy, healthy child made everything else unimportant to him.

Bryant started to snap at him, but Marcos
interrupted. “I just want to know why she’s recovering.”

This seemed to take Bryant by surprise. “You’re—you’re
not asking me about Yynium?”

Marcos bit back his irritation. “The doctors
insist that she has had no special care. Tell me what they’ve been giving her
and I’ll make you the second richest man in Coriol.”

Bryant’s eyebrows drew together. “They haven’t
given her anything. It was something my wife brought—”

“I’ll buy it, then. I’ll buy what your wife is
giving her.”

Bryant seemed to consider.
He wasn’t so
different
, Marcos thought.
Everyone has his price.
Slowly, Bryant
nodded his head.

“All right, Mr. Saras. You want to buy it? We’ll
sell it. On one condition.”

It was always conditional with this one. But it
was worth it to Saras. “One
more
condition, you mean,” he said, “you’ve
already got me to stop blasting.”

“Fair enough.” Bryant shrugged. “One more
condition: You buy enough for every building in Coriol. Every apartment in the
tenements, every room in the refinery, every office. Everybody gets one.”

“Fine. Done.” Marcos tried not to show his
exasperation. “Gets one what?”

“One Taim tray. When the papers are signed and
the scrip transferred, I’ll deliver yours personally, and tell you why it
works.”

Marcos was wild at the possibility of a cure. “I
will have it transferred before you leave the hospital.” He snapped his fingers
at Veronika, then remembered that she hated that.

Bryant nodded. “Then I’ll bring it tonight.” He
seemed so used to business dealings at this level that Marcos had to remind
himself that Bryant was only a linguist. Where had this ability come from?

Marcos watched him leave and turned to see
Veronika making the transfer with her missive. She raised a smoldering gaze to
him.

Marcos leaned back. He was tired. Tired of
fighting them, tired of worrying about Yynium day in and day out, tired of
being alone.

Veronika had reminded him often, at the
beginning, that he didn’t have to be alone. He knew she’d envisioned walking
right into the Saras mansion on Yynium Hill with him, had figured the two of
them could pick up right where she and his father had left off. But he’d seen
his mother’s heart broken. He would not see that look in Serena’s eyes. Veronika
had underestimated him—he was not his father.

Now, with the haze of his fear clearing, it
occurred to Marcos that his dying of Minean fever would have been quite
convenient for her. She would step into control of Saras Company in Coriol just
as she had planned. Did that vial he’d seen her slip Zuma have anything to do
with all this?

Marcos rolled his head the other direction and
looked at Theo. It may not have been so easy for Veronika to take over. Theo
would have fought for Saras Company, too.

Maybe with these trays, neither of them would get
the chance.

***

Ethan called to invite Luis to the cottage. When
he walked in, Luis was already there, chatting with Aria. A straw-filled crate
of plates sat next to her on the floor, and Ethan smiled. They were going to be
put to good use.

“Luis, we have a great opportunity,” Ethan said,
glancing at the threadbare clothes the potter was wearing. This could really
change things for him. Luis looked at him curiously.

“What if I told you that Saras wants a huge order
of your plates?”

Luis blinked. “My friend, I would tell you you’re
crazy. My plates have no place here. They don’t fit in the sanitizer, they don’t
match the décor. I only make them because I need something to do, and you only
take them because you don’t want to hurt my feelings.”

Ethan reached down and pulled one of the
beautiful plates from the crate. Its pale blue surface was glazed clear with
streaks of vibrant spring green. The plate’s circular throwing pattern made
dips and hills where the glaze had pooled and run. It was, like every one of
Luis’s plates, completely unique.

Ethan nodded toward his wife. “Aria has
discovered something special about your plates.” She shot him a worried glance,
obviously concerned that this would hurt their friend’s feelings, but Ethan
smiled broadly to encourage her.

She went into the other room and emerged with a
serving tray full of Taim plants. They were about the height of Ethan’s hand
and they swayed gently as Aria brought them in.

Luis raised his eyebrows.

“These plants—we’re calling them Taim—” Aria said
proudly, “cured Polara.”

“Cured?” Luis brightened, but looked cautious. “How?”
He walked closer and ran a finger across the fluffy tops of the plants.

Aria continued. “We figured out that Minean fever
is caused by a gas,” Aria said, skipping the part about her stolen vial, “which
seems to be coming from the mines. We’ve tried reporting it, but no one will
listen. The Taim metabolize both the gas and carbon dioxide and release pure
oxygen, thereby cleaning the air. In fact, the more gas and the more carbon
dioxide, the healthier the Taim plants. The more Taim, the less gas we measured
in the air.”

Luis smiled for real this time.

“So I did some experiments, and I can grow Taim
in trays. And you know what? They grow best on your pottery.” She smiled at
their friend.

“It must be the glaze,” he said. “I mix it
myself, you know.”

Ethan nodded. “I know. And you’re going to have
to mix a lot more. When Polara was the most sick, we put the trays in her
hospital bed and by morning she was awake.”

***

Ethan called his passengers to come and help with
the Taim trays. They met first at Reverend Hardy’s church, as it was more
centrally located than Ethan’s cottage. But they were scared, and weary of
having no work here. They were not the same passengers who had opened their
eyes to gaze with hope on Minea four years ago. They were discouraged and
bitter, angry and disappointed. As they crowded angrily to the front of the
church, he began to think that gathering them here together had been a mistake.